The Apothcary and the Bane
by Icarus Unbound
Summary: Another one of ... Albus Dumbledore talks to Severus Snape things!


7/25/05: cleaned up the old story after reading HPB 

_"If at his counsel I should turn aside_

_Into that ominous tract which, all agree,_

_Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly_

_I did turn as he pointed, neither pride_

_Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,_

_So much as gladness that some end might be."_

-- Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came, Robert Browning

**The Apothecary and the Bane**

_Being an explaination on how Severus Snape arrived at Hogwarts one Sunday night on a broom. Whereupon Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, tactfully did not comment about his lack of shoes and luggage, but instead let him have the dungeon as a temporarily measure._

It was raining again that morning in Knockturn Alley when Argosa Henbane woke up.

Fortunately, though not entirely dry, she was not entirely wet either. Her spot was one of the better ones, right under the jutting balcony of one of the tenements. Not only did the overhang keep the worst of the rain off, she was also located on higher ground. This meant the effluvia that collected in the streets flowed away from her towards the other side of the road, where Theodric Twidderbys was. He had to bear with the stench and vermin from the open sewer not two feet where he slept.

The only disadvantage of her spot she could think of, was that she got dripped on when they hung the laundry out. That was on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The Saturdays would often quarrel with the Fridays, the latter trying to keep their laundry out over the weekends because there wasn't enough sun, or it rained again, or...Or one would accuse the other of sneakily shifting the partition to gain more space...

They were at it again right at this very moment.

Twidderbys roused on the opposite side of the road and waddled over to Argosa, coughing from the heavy mist that clung to low to the streets. Narrowly missed by a mangy packhorse, he ducked under the balcony edge and pulled the sodden flaps of his hat over his ears as the peddler let loose a string of obscenities at him. "Fire," he mumbled as he unwound the damp strips of cloth about his fingers. Argosa smirked and prodded the mound of damp kindling she kept by her sack. It hissed and spluttered as it lit up.

Twidderbys cleared his throat and spat into the fire. "I think I caught something," he wheezed as he pulled off his boots and unwound the rags about his feet. "Poor Theodric, it'll be the death of him..." He threw a few pieces of scrap wood onto the fire and thrust his bony feet towards the growing flame. "They arguing again. Huh." he commented.

Indeed, the argument between Friday and Saturday was in full swing now. Friday (a hoarse voiced woman) was accusing Saturday (a horsy voiced woman) of dirtying her laundry yesterday. Saturday pointed out that Friday had no business on the balcony that day. Now the Man Friday joined in, waking one of the babies. The howl of the hungry baby rose like an insane accompaniment to the harsh voices.

At this point, the rickety door besides her slammed open, and Wednesday emerged from the shadows of the narrow staircase. Twidderbys jerked at the loud bang and yelped as his feet struck the fire. He jacked back like a spring, then groaned as his head struck the low overhang of the balcony. Argosa glanced her runty companion, but he was all right, and had already settled back by the fire.

Wednesday, a thin young man, started pulling out the boards from the front of his shop. It was a dingy affair, the apothecary, like most other shops in the alley. It was, in actual fact, not a shop at all, but a sealed corridor on the ground floor with one end knocked open and a curtain to partition the counter from the "backroom". Meanwhile, the argument upstairs had progressed to bathroom rights. Argosa smirked as she continued to eavesdrop. It was always worst on Sundays, when both families were in. The creaking of wood, and the staircase door banged again. Twidderbys twitched in alarm. Jumpy man. This time Argosa ignored him. It was Man Saturday , easing his way gingerly into the streets.

The short man relieved himself into the sewer opposite them and made for the counter, cramping his thickset frame under the overhang to keep out of the miserable drizzle. He thumbed the bell until the apothecary emerged from the backroom. Wednesday stared at him, his expression filled with undisguised ire. "Not my fault, all right?" the older man protested as he passed the money over the counter. "Merlin's Mercy, do hurry up," he grumbled, chaffing his ruddy cheeks, "And some Vanishing Rub. I can't get those spot off. Yeh it's running again."

Wednesday gazed at him for a moment. "Do I care?" he said curtly. The apothecary disappeared past the curtain, leaving his customer glowering behind him. A moment later, he emerged with two small, identical bottles of clear liquid. "This one's the rub," he continued in the same cold tone, "I'd remember that if I were you."

"Right...right..." Saturday muttered as he clambered up the stairs. The rickety steps squealed in alarm. "And bring back the bottles!" Wednesday snapped after him, leaning over the counter. The next moment, the apothecary's dark eyes met Argosa's. Black against pale blue. They stared at each other. His expression darkened, then he picked out a Sickle from his earnings and tossed it at her. Argosa groped for it. Polishing the silver coin on her robes, she grinned sharply at Twidderbys. "Seen nothing, Twiddy." Twidderbys giggled. She examined the coin and stuffed it deep into her robes, next to her skin, and settled next to the fire. She had little love for the Ministry and its regulations, and blithely ignored the little slips of paper that changed hands regularly under the counter, those little bottles of "specials" that were slipped in amongst the more mundane purchases of Strengthening and Scouring solutions, Hair-growth and Darkening oils, Vanishing and Hardening rubs -- provided there was sufficient incentive, of course.

It was, in all, a regular Sunday.

Except that it was not. She soon spotted the stranger wending his way down the alley. Tall, thin, wearing a full, pointed wizard's hat atop a long purple raincoat fine enough to warrant a mugging. Kellington's roughs gave him a wide berth though, and she soon understood why when he stopped in front of the apothecary, examining the rather new sign. Twidderbys squealed a name. Argosa elbowed him roughly, not feeling as delighted. Grindelwald's Bane? The whole scene smelled like a Ministry arrest. Wasn't this fellow some minister in one of those departments of something -- fondue?

The visitor noticed her staring. Beaming, he tipped his hat at her gallantly, sending a tiny flood of water down his raincoat. Frowning, he pulled his hat off again and upended the rain from its brim. "I need a waterproofing charm," the visitor said regretfully as he replaced his hat. He stepped up to the counter and rang the bell sharply, once.

Wednesday shouldered his way through the curtains, a google snail in one hand and paring knife in the other. As Argosa watched, his expression altered subtly in a way she had never seen before. A tiny voice inside her told her to stop, turn away, mind her own business. No, the alley cat fears nothing. She watched as Wednesday made half a motion towards the counter, then realised his hands were occupied. He stopped, put snail and knife down, wiped his hands hurriedly on his robes, then flipped the counter upwards. As he stepped aside to let the Visitor in, Argosa caught a glimpse of stacked crates and the dull glow of fire.

Wednesday lowered the countertop and followed the old man in through the curtain. She gazed thoughtfully at the "closed" sign the apothecary had flipped up. It was not some arrest after all; no one busted for bootleg brewing would look like that. Coming to a decision, she flashed Twidderbys a warning glance and ducked under the counter. She put her eye to the crack between the curtain and the wall.

The inside of the shop was dark, the only light coming from the steady fire beneath a simmering cauldron, and from the narrow slates knocked into the wall at the other end. Crates of ingredients crowded both sides of the narrow room. The large cauldron and a preparation table jammed under the slates took up most of the space left. Wednesday had squeezed past the old man and was pulling a stool from beneath the table. He untangled some blankets from the stool legs and shoved them back under the table. Brushing past dangling strings of plant parts, he set it down before the old man. "Thank you," the Visitor said, seating himself. Wednesday turned his second, unused cauldron and perched himself atop it.

"I have had some difficulty finding you," the Visitor began.

"I would go to you if you send an owl, sir."

"No..." the Visitor waved a hand, gazing about him, "no, I wanted to see how you are doing." Wednesday folded his arms defensively over his chest. The older man continued kindly, "You have lost a lot of weight. This place is not healthy for you." There was a slight stress on the word healthy, an emphasis Wednesday did not miss, for he stiffened. There was a stretch of guilty silence.

"You should go back with me. We'll fatten you up again. They're still making those custard pies, you know..."

"You want me -- to go out there -- rub shoulders with those clean, innocent people? Teach their precious, sickening children? Children of people -" Wednesday's voice, growing steadily softer and angrier as he spoke, broke off suddenly.

"And you would rather waste yourself here, helping people kill themselves?" came the dry reply.

"I will do what what you wish, sir." The evasion.

"Yes," the Visitor said quietly, firmly, "that is what I wish." Then, more gently, "It's time to come home. And if I may say so, my young friend, one of your lacking qualities has always been forgiveness --" The other made an impatient noise in his throat "-- very well, very well, this is neither time nor place for a lecture. Then I will remind you that the war isn't over yet."

"When the Master returns, I will be ready."

"And meanwhile, there is no better place for you than, shall I say, home. When can I expect you?"

"I will be there with next Friday's train."

"Excellent. We will discuss this further when you arrive."

Argosa ducked quickly back to her spot as the two stood up. Closing her eyes, she pretended to have dozed off until the visitor's footsteps died away. War, the "Master"...her thoughts flittered unquietly beneath her closed eyelids. Normally, like any other dutiful resident of those parts, she would keep her mouth about irregularities. But this was beyond irregular. It was, in fact, irregular enough to make some good coin from. Kellington would love to get his hands on one of those. Argosa grinned as she opened her eyes. This one seemed reformed, of course, but a bit of misinformation never hurt anyone...

Twidderbys yelped as Argosa's foot caught him in the ribs. "Listen Twiddys," she whispered to him, "Ye knows old Argosa has her bad legs, ye does her a favour and go to the Upright Man..."

The Beginning


End file.
